


no graves can hold

by apotheosizing



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sad with a Hopeful Ending, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:06:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25777102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apotheosizing/pseuds/apotheosizing
Summary: A cat and a knight travel to the land of Catarina.
Relationships: Alvina the Cat & Sieglinde of Catarina
Comments: 11
Kudos: 8
Collections: Press Start VI





	no graves can hold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



> This was such a neat and unexpected prompt that I felt compelled to try my hand at it. Sometimes when you are sad, you just need a big rude kitty/determined knight to help you out.

The grave of Artorias was empty. It had been thus from the day the monument was laid into the yielding soil of the garden, before the roots of the Abyss had curled so deeply into its heart. On her return from the consumed remains of Oolacile, Ciaran had been able to salvage only the blackened shell of his soul and the covenant ring that had failed to shield him from his fate. 

She had given the ring to Sif to safeguard in the vain hope that none would ever again walk the Abyss, bid Alvina protect the site of his grave, and disappeared. They had found her body, shrivelled and hollowed, at the base of the headstone mere days later. And now, with Sif slain by the chosen fool who sought to slay the kings of the Abyss, she was the last of the three.

At first, blinding anger had eclipsed her grief. She redoubled the efforts of her hunters in the aftermath of the desecration of the grave and the corpses of the undead who stumbled into the forest from other worlds fed the roots of the garden. As the interminable days wore on, fewer and fewer errant undead reached her perch. The fire of her fury faded to little more than a spark that fueled naught but her questioning of those who evaded her hunters, soon to die at the hands of the twisted creatures that roamed the forest.

Each traveller, valiant or lily-livered, announced themselves with the clink of armour on stone, a gasp of air to summon one more spell, some sound of their rebellion against the curse of the darksign that dogged their steps. It gave her pause to hear the clatter of a sword and a sigh choked out like a sob as she climbed through the window of the old ruin.

The knight wore the armour of the knights of Catarina, a rare sight among the undead as Catarina had managed to stand strong against the onslaught of the curse even as other lands fractured under the strain. She removed her helmet to wipe at her eyes, revealing a face that was puffy from crying but remained whole and human. A rare sight indeed.

Alvina padded over to the knight, flicking her tail at the girl’s cheek lazily as she circled her. “Child, pray tell me what troubles thee.” The knight started, a hand moving to her blade in an instinctive way that Alvina did not hold against her as she stopped short before touching the steel.

“I… who are you?” Her voice wavered from uncertainty rather than despair as she blinked in confusion at the cat.

Alvina curled up nonchalantly by the knight’s discarded helmet, letting out a wide yawn before answering, “I am the steward of these woods into which thou art trespassing.”

The knight’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I was intruding. I’m… a little lost, to be honest. My name is Sieglinde, I’m trying to get home to Catarina.”

Life since time immemorial had worn Alvina’s sympathies thin but she could not summon her usual snide disregard in the face of a crying child. The spectre of loss clung too tightly to the girl’s shoulders, a mirror of the one which clawed its way out of the defiled grave of the abysswalker to roost on her own. “I shall see thee safely to the edge of the forest, Sieglinde of Catarina,” the cat proclaimed.

A small frown creased Sieglinde’s features. “Don’t you need to stay here to protect the woods? You don’t have to-- .”

“My hunters are more than capable of defending it.” She left unspoken the truth that there was nothing left of the graves to protect, in the fear that voicing it would mean she could delude herself no longer. “When thou hast dried your tears, we shall depart.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Sieglinde’s face. “Alright.”

* * *

Alvina leapt gracefully across chasms like scars torn in the earth and padded around gnarled roots that would snare the unfamiliar. Sieglinde, her movements more deliberate owing to the heavy armour she wore, trailed behind her. The girl’s disposition had recovered enough that she began to regale the cat with tales of her arduous travels across the land. The way her ears pricked up whenever Sieglinde began a new story was the only indication that she was listening. Her hunters prowled the periphery, fending off wild creatures that might attack them, but Alvina remained on her guard.

Sympathy for the girl had hardened to a desire to ensure that she would be able to make her way to the borders of Lordran unharmed. Her skill with the blade she carried was undeniable but even Gwyn's great knights had travelled with companions. She cursed herself for going soft in her old age when she insisted that she continue to accompany Sieglinde at the edge of the forest. Alvina could not see it beneath her helmet but she could tell by the girl's voice that she was grinning in response.

* * *

With claw and blade, Alvina and Sieglinde ascended the fortress. “Who was Sen?” the girl asked, as she examined the wall ahead for arrow slits or else that belied a trap. She had removed her helmet to facilitate more careful examination, binoculars held to her face. At her feet, Alvina answered.

“A retired general with a penchant for elaborate contraptions. I never liked him.” Her fur bristled as she recalled the boulder trap that would have sent her tumbling to gods-knew-where were it not for Sieglinde pulling her back to safety. She had later returned the favour but the indignity still stung. “And he hath not endeared me since.”

“I think we’re near the top. That last detour outside looked promising.” Satisfied that she had identified the pressure plate, Sieglinde hefted her helmet back atop her head and picked up her sword. “Come on.”

Alvina admired the boundless optimism in her voice.

* * *

Anor Londo had not changed in the thousands of years since she had last seen it. Not a speck of tarnish had touched its golden spires and the sun’s rays shone down with a brightness she recalled only from days weaving between Artorias and Ciaran in the courtyard. She did not have time to examine it for long, as the Sentinels took note of her and Sieglinde’s presence at once, crashing upon them with spear and shield in hand.

Sieglinde held both their attackers at bay, the blows she could not dodge glancing off her armour in vindication of the long-held design, while Alvina cloaked herself in magic and struck from behind. Their concerted effort was clumsy in comparison to the way she had once fought alongside Sif, answering each of his blows with one of her own. It was an unfair comparison, borne of the thorn of grief in her heart. She and Sieglinde moved now to a new music; she could see no harmony in it yet.

Nonetheless, the armoured warriors fell, fading away until naught but their souls remained. Alvina flexed a paw idly before returning to Sieglinde’s side. “Across yonder mountains lies thy home, yes?” Sieglinde nodded, it was all she could muster while catching her breath. “Then let us make haste!”

She could not stand to stay in the city any longer than necessary, lest her impression of it through changed eyes supersede her golden memories.

* * *

An unforgiving wintry chill swept across the foothills as they crossed, carried down from the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. The wind whistled a low, tuneless whine through the gaps in Sieglinde's armour, making her feel rather like a walking chime. She huffed out a visible breath of annoyance, expelling it in the hopes it would take the knot of frustration with it. No such luck. By the time darkness blanketed the horizon, she was glad of the opportunity to doff her steel in exchange for a thick woollen blanket.

Sieglinde had seen the glint of light from too many keen canine teeth in the corner of her eye to risk coaxing a fire to life. The last of her foraged food would have to sustain her until they reached uncontested hunting grounds. Having bid goodnight to Alvina, she laid her sword within grasping distance of her cot before curling up beneath the blanket in defiance of the frigid weather. Even so protected, she shivered and shifted uncomfortably against the cold.

In stark contrast, a point of warmth spread out from her chest as a warm, furry body settled against it. Sieglinde startled at the contact, though it likely seemed to be merely another shiver to her companion. "Troublesome child," Alvina muttered irritably, the barest hint of fondness discernible despite what she guessed were the cat's best efforts to hide it. The fire flickered low and the wind nipped at her extremities but that night, unlike any since she'd set foot in the otherworldly realm beneath the roots of the archtrees, she slept soundly.

* * *

Strange anxieties had gripped Sieglinde of late. She had taken the lead of the duo, being far more familiar with the lands beyond Lordran than her companion, and was glad of the fact that Alvina could not see her face twist in discomfort as they continued toward Catarina.

It struck her one unremarkable day, as she secured her bedroll at her back before they set out for the next bonfire. She was scared of going home. When she pictured her destination, it was no longer with the hearth blaring and the pleasantly mundane conversation of her mother and father. She knew that the house would be empty and the monumental task of filling it again with the comfort she had once felt under its roof daunted her far more than her grim journey to Lordran ever had.

Alvina, ever-perceptive, noticed her hesitation, caught on the task of threading the leather strap through its buckle. "Thou art worrying again," she proclaimed, bluntly. "Daylight burns whilst we tarry here, child." Her words would have sounded dismissive if Sieglinde had not grown wise to Alvina's nature - prickly on the outside, a worrywort within.

"Right! Right." There was, indeed, nothing she could do to address her fears until she reached home. She hefted her pack over her shoulders and withdrew her map, leading the way. Alvina gave an approving nod before falling into step behind her.

* * *

For the first time in several days, the duo came across a small settlement. So far from the epicentre of the curse, its people had hale faces and bubbles of laughter still carried through the streets from children's antics. Sieglinde had almost forgotten what it was like.

Her companion seemed plainly discomfited by it. Her ears lay close to flat against her head, fur all a-bristle, and she had nearly bitten the hand of a wayward youth who had approached her in excitement. Alvina's archaic manner of speech had suggested to Sieglinde that she was exceedingly old for a cat and if she had been guarding the silent grave of Artorias since his fall, she perhaps had never seen a place like this in her long life.

Sieglinde had wandered behind the backdoor of a pub to speak with her privately, knowing that Alvina's pride would prevent her from answering truthfully in the midst of the main road. "If you want, you can wait on the edge of the village while I finish up. I'd say we can avoid civilization altogether but I won't survive long without food and repairs to my armour." The smithbox she'd purchased from Andre had served her well but she was no smith by trade and her grindstone had been ground to little more than the size of a prism stone.

Alvina's tail flicked in agitation. "I require no such thing! 'Tis just... strange. I shall adapt to my surrounds; that is a hunter's task." Sieglinde relented but made some additional purchases before they departed, ensuring they could skip a town or two along the way.

* * *

Unlike the gold and white the land of the ancient lords favoured, Catarina was a kingdom of deep red and dusty beige. Not that Catarina did not have its share of ostentatious architecture, with mosaics in geometric marvels adorning the ceilings of its chapels, but to Sieglinde it was a humbler place.

Her family had owned a farm on the rolling hills near the grand capital which had since fallen into disrepair. She swung the gate before the house open with little more than a touch, the latch having rusted to the point of uselessness. Grasses grew untamed to the height of their wild kin, snaring around the doorstep.

She should have been happy to be home but as her hand fell on the door handle, she could only think of holding her mother’s hand as the life slipped from her body with a final shuddering gasp. Alvina, unceremoniously, nudged her way through the door to cast an appraising look over the small kitchen. Three stools, chipped and wobbly, sat expectantly around a tiny table and cobwebs clung to the kettle that hung over the fireplace.

The cat eyed a mouse that skittered across the floor, noting the hole in the siding that it wiggled through as it made its escape. All told, its condition was not as bad as Sieglinde had feared. “Thou hast set quite a task afore us, Sieglinde of Catarina, yet fear not. No vermin has escaped my claws more than once,” Alvina said.

Sieglinde startled, stepping inside and closing the door behind her before responding. “Us?” she repeated, non-plussed.

“Well, indeed,” the cat confirmed with a huff. “Think’st thou that I would abandon thee to such a task? T’would be a wretched soul who could. Light the hearth, child, and I shall set to the chase!”

Sieglinde did as she was bid. Her home would not be like it once was, true, but she would not wander her family’s home alone like a wraith as she had feared. It would not be easy - for either of them - living in the shadow of the tragedies they refused to name but they would not be alone. It was far from perfect but, as Sieglinde set the water boiling over the fire, a conviction took hold that it might be a start.


End file.
